


Drop

by profoundfall



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anxiety Attacks, Castiel Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Castiel Has Panic Attacks, D/s, Dom Castiel, Dom Drop, Dom/sub, M/M, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rimming, Spanking, Sub Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-16
Updated: 2016-01-16
Packaged: 2018-05-14 05:41:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5731495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/profoundfall/pseuds/profoundfall
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel and Dean have been exploring the sexual side of their relationship for a few months now. One night Castiel learns about Dom drop the hard way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drop

**Author's Note:**

> I have no experience in D/s (except in my fantasies). There's not enough written about Dom drop in fic and I'd love to see more. Doms need care too!

“Cas, please.” Dean’s voice is harsh and raw, his face nearly as red as his ass. “I need you.”

The words Castiel had prepared in response stutter on his tongue as his stomach drops. 

_Cas, this isn’t you. This isn’t you. I know you’re in there._

He blinks. Dean is warm and heavy across his lap, his whole body trembling, his cock smearing precome across Castiel’s thigh. The light is on in their room because Castiel prefers to see everything when they do this, prefers to have Dean’s eyes on him when he finds release. The bunker gets a little chilly in winter, but he had turned the heat up in preparation of their scene. Nevertheless, Castiel shivers. He had only been half-erect himself, but now it is completely gone.

He’s meant to give Dean a few sharp slaps straight across his hole now. Castiel knows this. Dean knows this, too, though he is likely too far gone at the moment to remember. But Castiel is frozen. He looks down at Dean’s bare ass, burning hot and red now. He can see the outline of his fingers in the pattern across Dean’s pale skin and his palm tingles in accusation. 

Suddenly his stomach surges up into his throat. For a moment, Castiel thinks he needs to stop. 

Dean squirms, rubbing his erection against Castiel’s thigh. “Cas, please…”

Castiel inhales and a kind of blankness settles over him. It’s not the same headspace he usually revels in, but he feels that he can finish the scene at least. 

When he spanks Dean right on his hole, Dean howls.

“Hush, Dean,” Castiel says calmly. “You don’t want Sam to hear.” He’s supposed to say something along the lines of what a slut Dean is, but he can’t dig the words out of his throat. 

Instead he proceeds to the next phase: pushing Dean flat onto the bed and eating him out until he cries. Over the past few months, Castiel has become acquainted enough with Dean’s sexual preferences that he has the sheets damp with tears in a matter of minutes. Dean likes it when he thrusts his tongue deep, when he pulls back and stretches Dean’s hole out with his thumbs, when he nips lightly at his rim. He knows Dean is on the brink at this point, and it’s time to end. 

Gently, Castiel pulls Dean up on his knees so he can’t rut against the mattress.

“Please let me come,” Dean begs, panting for breath. “Please. Please.”

“Not tonight, Dean.”

“Please.”

Castiel spanks him one last time as his final answer. Dean breaks apart completely as the full realization of his denial settles in. He bows his head and sobs messily into the sheets. But he doesn’t come.

Castiel sits beside him and rubs his arched back. Usually Castiel talks a lot for this part, assuring Dean that he is good, that he has done well, that he is beautiful and cherished and loved. But Castiel’s throat is swollen and the only words he wants to say are the ones to grant Dean release. Dean hasn’t come in three weeks now. All of this is leading to a finale Castiel has planned for next weekend, but Dean doesn’t know the exact day. 

Maybe he is pushing too hard.

Once Dean’s shoulders stop shaking and the tears subside, Castiel leans closer to him. “Color?”

Dean sniffs, but he nods his head against his arms where he has folded them under his face. “Green.”

Castiel runs his fingers through Dean’s sweaty hair. “I’m going to get the aloe. I’m not leaving the room.”

He waits for Dean to nod again before he rises from the bed and walks over to the little sink by the bedroom door. He picks up a bottle of aloe lotion and squirts some into his palm as he goes back to the bed. Dean’s muscles relax one by one while Castiel kneads the lotion gently over his sore ass. Dean is still half hard when Castiel lets him lie down again, but Castiel knows he’s not going to try to get off anymore. Pouring lotion down Dean’s back, he massages a bit harder and deeper into his muscles, ignoring the ache in his own arms and hands and stomach.

Dean is on the verge of sleep when Castiel is finished. He washes his hands in the sink and fills a glass with water. Getting Dean to wake up long enough to drink it isn’t too difficult this time, but Dean whines when Cas returns to the sink to fill the glass for himself. Dean is actually pouting by the time Castiel slips into the bed, and then his arms and legs latch around Castiel before he even has a chance to get comfortable. He only just manages to slip out of Dean’s hold long enough to reach over and switch off the light.

Dean kisses and nibbles at his neck in a slow, satisfied way, with no intention of starting things up again. “You didn’t come,” he murmurs sleepily.

“No.” Honestly, Castiel isn’t sure why. He’s felt oddly drained all week. He thought the scene would relieve him, but instead he feels…

Castiel sighs. He doesn’t care how he feels, not tonight. He’ll worry about it tomorrow. Or whenever.

Dean hums, though he might have intended to form words. Then his breathing evens and Castiel tries to relax.

 

* * *

 

 

Castiel wakes hours later with Dean draped across his chest, providing much needed warmth in the chilly room. Dean’s breaths are slow and deep and he snores a little. Castiel is holding his breath. His shoulders are tight and his stomach is queasy. As much as he hates to disrupt Dean’s well deserved rest, he is desperate for some room to breathe for a few minutes.  

He slowly lifts Dean’s arm and eases away. Dean smacks his lips with unsaid words, his arm jerking in an unconscious attempt to bring Castiel close again, and it tears at his heart. But then Castiel slips free, the frigid air causing bumps to rise on his skin, and Dean burrows into the warmth left behind before settling.

Castiel feels like he’s breaking apart just looking at Dean, able only to see a faint shadow of him in the dark, so unlike it was months ago when Dean’s soul lit every dark corner in his world. He shivers and fumbles through the darkness until he finds the Men of Letters robe Dean favors. He wraps it tightly around himself, opens the bedroom door with a quiet squeak, and pads down the chilled, hard floor to the communal bathroom.

By the time he hunches over a toilet, Castiel’s teeth are chattering. His stomach toils, and he knows even from his limited human experience that he might feel better if vomits, but everything seems stuck in his throat. What’s wrong with him? He hasn’t been himself all week, tired and uninterested in the lore Sam had dug up for a hunter in Iowa or the burgers Dean had made especially for him. Even when Claire had called yesterday morning just to talk with him, which is all he has ever hoped to have from her, he couldn’t bring himself to give her the enthusiasm she deserved, offering only a few “okays” and “uh huhs” until she found a reason to hang up. She probably won’t call again.

Something is wrong with him. A crack in his chassis that, even as a human, he can’t escape it. His palm still stings from every slap against Dean’s skin. He could still see the red welts in the shapes of his fingers. He remembers how he froze up, how he had nearly stopped the scene all together. He is the dominant one - his is supposed to have control over himself so he can keep Dean safe while giving him what he needs. He can’t let his mind drift and freeze up like that again. He can’t lose control again.

His hands shake as he holds them up in front of him. He remembers what it felt like not to have any control over himself.

_Dean’s arm snaps easily in his grip. Dean falls on his knees in the dust. Dean’s face breaks against his knuckles again and again and again. Dean is bloody, swollen. His soul shines fiercely. “Cas, this isn’t you… This isn’t you… I know you’re in there - I know you can hear me… Cas, it’s me… We’re family… We need you… I need you…”_

Castiel huddles against the wall next to the toilet, covering his face with his hands like it might stop the visions from assaulting him. God, how can he do this? He _hurt_ Dean. He _still_ hurts Dean. How could he actually _enjoy_ any of this? How could Dean? He says he wants it, but what if Dean is just afraid of saying no? Even without his angelic strength, Dean _knows_ what Castiel can do to him. He knows what it’s like when Castiel loses control. 

_Dozens of bodies spilled upon a white floor. Dozens of lifeless green eyes staring at him in surprise, in pain, in anger, in utter betrayal._

What if he loses control next time? What if he hurts Dean - _really_ hurts him. He’s not an angel; he can’t heal anymore. But what if Castiel asks to stop? What if he can’t give Dean what he needs? Or what if Dean decides he doesn’t need it anymore? What if Dean doesn’t need _him_? What if Dean tells him to leave again? He’ll be homeless again. Alone again.

Castiel’s chest is jerking now and each desperate breath is yanked out of him. His body is turning against him and _he doesn’t understand_. He can’t _stop_ it. He’s broken. Dean doesn’t need him. He shouldn’t be here. They shouldn’t be doing this.

“Cas?”

 _No_.

Glancing up from his fingers, he sees Dean standing in front of him, dressed now in a pair of sweatpants and a henley. His hair is mussed from sleep but his eyes are sharp with concern, undoubtedly relying on a lifetime of jumping into alertness at a moment’s notice. “Hey, hey, what happened?”

Not only can Castiel not control his breathing, but now hot tears spill down his face with a horrible, undignified choking sound. Dean shouldn’t be here. He’s not supposed to see Castiel like this. Castiel is the one who pulls Dean apart and puts him together again, not the other way around. 

Dean pushes Castiel’s hands away from his face, wipes away his tears with his thumbs. “Cas, tell me what’s wrong. Please.”

He wants to speak. He wants to tell Dean everything, how guilty he feels for hurting him, how horrible he is for not caring enough, how scared he is of losing him. Because one day he’ll go too far, he’ll cross some line, and Dean will have nothing to do with him. 

Dean goes still. Cas’s shoulders hunch forward, waiting for it, waiting for Dean to yell at him to snap out of it, to stop crying like a baby, to be the Dom he’s supposed to be. But Dean doesn’t do those things. Instead he pulls Castiel down with him to sit on the floor. Then he pulls Castiel against his warm chest.

Castiel relaxes almost immediately, pushing his face into the crook of Dean’s neck. Dean rubs his back for a minute while Castiel finally regains control of his breathing, though it’s still shaky. Then he starts running his fingers through Castiel’s hair.

“I read once, a while back,” Dean murmurs, “that a Dom can have a drop, too.”

Castiel blinks at that, staring at the shower tiles across the room. He had read extensively about sub drop when he and Dean first began exploring the sexual part of their relationship. He had cared for Dean through many such drops, especially in the beginning. As Dean’s trust and comfort level had grown, the drops had eased off.

But in all his reading, he’d never seen anything about Dom drop. And he couldn’t fathom that _that_ was what all this was.

“You know I…” Dean started and then cleared his throat. “You know I’ve never had someone understand what I want, what I need, the way you do.”

Castiel tensed. “Dean…”

“Let me say it. I don’t think you get how much you’ve changed me. I mean, we’ve been through a lot together.” He huffs a laugh, but he sobers quickly. After a silent moment, he presses a kiss to Castiel’s temple. “You’ve given up so much just for me. I mean, how am I ever gonna make that up to you?”

“Dean—”

“That’s rhetorical, Cas. My point is… if everything had been reversed, you know I’d give it all up for you, too, right?”

Castiel squeezes his arms tighter around Dean’s waist, and he can’t really find anything to say.

Dean squeezes back. “I know we’ve been… Well, we’re past experimenting. You’ve been my Dom for months now, and you’ve opened up parts of me that go past the bedroom. I mean, I don’t have to hide anything from you. Fuck, I _cry_ in front of you and it’s not weird, not anymore. It’s amazing. It makes me feel amazing, even when we’re not in a scene. You’re not hurting me, Cas. You’re… letting me feel. You make me feel all those things I’m too scared to feel because I want it so much. It’s good, Cas. It’s so good, and I don’t want you to ever regret any of it, okay?”

Another sob shudders through him. “But what if - what if I hurt you?” He digs his fingers into Dean’s shirt. “I don’t want to hurt you. I can’t do that again.”

“You have to trust me, Cas,” Dean murmurs. “If you’re pushing me too close to the edge, I’ll tell you. And I know you’ll stop the second I ask.”

“But what if—”

“Cas.” His voice is firmer. “You’ve taken on Heaven and archangels and freaking Lucifer to keep me safe. You are the last thing on earth that is going to hurt me, okay?”

Castiel is still crying a little, but all the tension has flooded from him. He feels sore and exhausted, like he’d been carrying around that terror for a lot longer than tonight. When he snuggles closer to Dean, he’s not worried that he might be pushed away, and he isn’t.

Dean takes a deep breath and kisses Castiel’s forehead again. After a couple of minutes, he asks, “Mind telling me what started this? You’ve been out of it for days.”

Castiel is too wrung out to avoid answering, but he’s also not sure what the answer is. “You said you needed me.”

“…Okay?” He can already tell Dean is flustered. “Should I… not say that anymore?”

“No, I like… I like hearing that you need me.” His heart starts to beat harder again, but he still feels relaxed. “I was thinking of Naomi, when she made me… she made me hurt you. And you were trying to reach me, and you said—”

“We’re family,” Dean said, his breath ruffling Castiel’s hair. “And I needed you. I remember.”

Castiel breathes deeply and licks his lips. They taste of salt. “When you said it earlier tonight, that popped into my head, and I… I couldn’t believe what I was doing to you. I wanted to stop, but I didn’t want to leave you… unfinished.”

Dean sighs. “That’s sort of been the point with the whole denial thing, Cas.” He scratches his fingers through Castiel’s hair again. “Next time, it’s okay to say you need to stop. Or we can just break for a couple of minutes and make out. You know, like I need to do sometimes.” He lifts Castiel’s chin. His eyes are soft and dark, lines prominent at the corners. “I want to take care of you, too.”

“I know.”

They kiss softly, languidly. Dean can probably taste his tears, but he doesn’t comment on it.

After a couple of minutes, Castiel agrees that the floor is too cold. Dean helps him up and they shuffle back to their bedroom. Dean tucks him in and then runs to the kitchen to make some hot tea and grab the tin of leftover Christmas cookies. They eat and drink quietly together, exchanging only a few shy smiles. 

When they huddle close under the blankets for sleep once again, Castiel feels full of love and warmth and sweetness. He’s not sure it will last until morning, but knowing Dean will be there to help him eases his worries. He hopes he never experiences a drop like this again, but he also supposes it is inevitable. At least next time they can both recognize the signs earlier and hopefully prevent the worst of it.

 


End file.
